PEN MASTER 022 MAN OF STEEZE

Title: The Second Wife

Now: July 3rd, 11:00 pm

The baby spoke, loud and clear, as the woman scolded it. Her hand lay on her stomach, the scowl on her face focused on it.

"He said you shouldn't do it," she said, smiling at me, her doll-like face bright under the light. I felt blank, unable to process any fear.

I blinked, she was still there, stomach slightly protruding out of her blouse with that smile still on her face. The steel tray in my hand wobbled, my grip on it slowly faltering. With a jarring clatter, it fell, scissors clanging to the floor, while the syringe filled with misoprostol rolled to the edge of her bed.

"Yi shiru yarona, yi shiru." She caressed her stomach and then turned to me, "I'm hushing him, he's angry, he's scared, he's crying... Please don't do it."

A zap of something electric washed over me, starting at my head, and racing down to my toes. Tinnitus hummed in my ears, like the whistling of a kettle.

I squeezed my eyes shut and slowly backed away, but the sound only got louder and louder. Then conversations swelled around-people chattering, laughing, crying, singing, everything. I stumbled into a drug cart and my eyes flew open. There she was, cackling, looking at her stomach as she pointed at me.

I pushed open the door, and ran into the hallway. The voices continued speaking. A chaotic party was going on in my head.

I ran for what felt like eternity until I bumped into someone who quickly held me by my elbows, steadying me.

"Layla?" Her voice was far, a whisper amidst the voices. Hot liquid streamed down my cheeks.

"Can you hear them?" I asked her, poking my index fingers into my ears.

"Who?"

I shut my eyes again as the voices morphed to angry, exhausted grunts, and then a pindrop silence followed, leaving only the pounding of my heart.

I opened my eyes. Blood drained from Amina's face. She took a few steps backwards. Her lips quivered, hand flying to her mouth. "Layla...your eyes."

I rushed to the nearest glass door and looked into it. The capillaries and veins in my eyes had burst, and my irises were brown holes in the center of pools of blood.

When I turned to Amina, it wasn't her anymore. It was the pregnant woman's face.

***

Before: Three months ago

They came in a white pickup truck for her. Her body. It was lifted out of the gurney and into a wooden structure used for carrying dead bodies. Four men hoisted it onto their shoulders and headed for the exit. Her female relatives followed, sniffling into their hijabs and that was their farewell out of The Summit Psychiatric Center.

The last time I had seen her, she had been sleeping peacefully on her bed, her plump face so serene that I contemplated giving her her injection.

Amina stood behind me, her face sullen. The kind of face a person wore when death was around. Maybe she was having the same thoughts as I: Asiya died a mad woman. Or maybe she was thinking about how she had lost a valuable patient.

The automatic doors closed with a click just as the last of them went out. Amina cleared her throat and turned to all of us nurses, "Let's get back to work."

They all dispersed to their various stations, but I waited until I saw her tall frame take a turn towards the exit to the special unit. I took quick strides and I caught up with her. She sensed I was behind her, so she flexed her shoulders under the lab coat, and looked down at me with her brow raised up in some condescending way. "Can I help you?"

"Amina-"

"Dr. Amina."

I fought myself from rolling my eyes. Every time she spoke to me in that tone, it took me back to when I had been led by an entourage of family and friends into her home, for the customary greeting a newly wedded second wife had to do to show respect to the first wife.

She had stood up with a start, and if my face hadn't been covered by my white veil she'd have seen the smile on my face.

"How's Malik faring?" I crossed my arms over my chest.

"He's better," Amina replied curtly, her gaze shifting as if trying to dismiss me.

I took a breath, pressing on. "Can I see Asiya's medical reports?"

"What would you want to do with it?"

"I want to confirm if it was really epilepsy that killed her," I said matter-of-factly. And the slight shock that crossed her eyes even when she tried to mask it didn't go unnoticed.

"Layla, go back to work." She dismissed me and tried to walk away. Blood rushed to my ears.

"Amina I noticed she showed signs of pregnancy before she died so I just want to confirm," I said, loud enough to draw the attention of the few people around. Good.

"You don't need to concern yourself with that. The report is in Malik's office." Her voice sounded annoyed. "I'll look into it when I get home. I will confirm."

I opened my mouth to argue, but two men with a woman between them approached us. Instantly, a warm smile graced Amina's face

"Sannunku, welcome," she said, then turned to me with an obvious change in demeanor. "Please excuse us."

I nodded, retreating toward the reception, but my eyes couldn't leave them. The woman. The dark circles that shrouded her dull eyes. Her gaze didn't wander with insanity like those of most women brought here; she was unnaturally still, like a porcelain doll. Amina turned to look at me, and as if guided by invisible strings, the woman met my gaze.

I would have lingered to eavesdrop on what they were saying, but I had way more important things to do.

***

Kishiyoyi. Abokan zama. All synonyms for co-wives. They all had a sense of animosity attached to them. One derived from Kishi, jealousy; the other one an ironic take on friendship, subtly implying invasion.

I hadn't married Dr. Malik for any of those reasons. It had nothing to do with his wife. My reasons were rooted in security. In the hospital. So I'd no longer be just a psychiatric nurse, but the psychiatric nurse who was the wife to the doctor, the owner-half-owner-of the hospital.

But deep down, I realized I might have wanted something more than that. Power. A way to show Amina we were equals. My thoughts tangled and slipped away from me.

I had truly invaded. I now knew why after all these years Amina didn't have a child. It wasn't because she didn't want to like she said when it came up. It was because she couldn't. That was what I could that she couldn't and she made me couldn't.

I frowned, shaking my head. Why was I thinking about that now? Barrenness or not, we all couldn't conceive now. All that mattered was that she knew I wasn't a barren.

I walked back to the nurses' station and found Sophie, a fellow nurse-though still beneath me-talking to a patient's relative. I waited for her to finish.

"Hey," I said, coughing a bit to release the tension in my throat. "Could you please help me cover my ward rounds? I have to get somewhere real quick."

She eyed me, "Sure... is everything alright?"

I nodded. While waiting for Sophie to dismiss the visitor, I saw the men who came with that woman leave. And I knew Amina had left with the woman.

The special unit was off-limits to most nurses, including me before, but now, I walked in without hesitation. Two security guards were stationed at the inner entrance. I gave them two one-thousand-naira notes that had seen better days, and their responses came quickly.

Is Dr. Amina Inside? Yes.
Did she go in with a woman? Yes, she wear one black hijab.
Take my number, when she comes out flash me, you hear. Toh Hajiya.

Amina insisted she took care of our husband after his paralysis. And in taking care of him, the hospital went under her control fully. I wondered if he'd be awake when I entered their brown duplex.

I stepped out of the keke napep, pushing some naira notes into the driver's hand. I had dialed their home telephone on the way, and now I heard the familiar, annoying creak of the gate as it opened. Hidden behind a blue Mazda, I watched as the caretaker glanced left and right before heading toward the bus stop, where I had lied that Amina's package had been delivered.

It would take him at least twenty minutes to return. Twenty minutes I intended to use wisely. In those minutes, I uncovered the truth. I found two pregnant women. A Jamila, and the woman who died-Asiya Babale. One had been carrying Amina and Malik's child. My hands trembled as the weight of it settled. And if the garbled nonsense that had spilled from our husband's lips was indeed a yes, then Amina had caused his paralysis. That fucking cunt.

***

Then: July 3rd, 10:00 pm

Amina
I never realized this was what it felt like to be a widow-the quiet emptiness that settled deep in your stomach. The weight of knowing you were truly alone. Malik had never been the kind of husband you'd weep for, not in the way people expect. His absence almost felt like fear. Fear that he had left me with things I couldn't handle. The jealous one... and the other one I couldn't even find the words for.

I switched off my computer, removed my stethoscope and watched as the chest piece dangled. Every sense of reasoning had left me. They were too much for me. Too dangerous. If only I could go away, vanish just like Malik.

Heavy footfalls echoed in the hallway. Even before seeing her round, chubby face, I knew she would be the one. Slowly, my gaze lifted to meet hers. Her dark eyes brimmed with anger. I knew that this encounter wouldn't be our usual banter.

"Are you happy now?" she asked, her voice so thick that I instinctively reached for the scalpel beneath my table.

"What?"

"I said are you happy now!"

I tried to steady my erratic heartbeat. I pushed my swivel chair back and stood up slowly, attempting to keep my face composed. This was a version of Layla I had always hoped not to see.

"You killed him." She seethed, the rim of her eyes red from crying, "just like you killed my child."

It was only a matter of time before this day came. Layla couldn't stay back; the more you pushed her away, the more determined she became to come at you. I knew she had gone to our home, and all this time, I had been waiting for her to act on it. She had bided her time until he died.

In these situations, approaching the person was never wise. You waited at a considerably safe distance, and tried to do everything to calm the person down. Slowly, I pulled my glasses from my eyes, holding her gaze.

I could see the fire in her eyes, the rage simmering just below the surface.

"Layla." My voice came out like a whisper. "Sit down."

Her body shook violently as she raised a finger as if to point at me, but she slammed the door shut and locked it, fumbling with the keys before shoving them into her pocket. I held the edge of the desk.

"You do not understand," I said.

Layla guffawed, the sound echoing in my office. It felt surreal, as if I was watching from somewhere out of my body. I didn't know what unsettled me more-was it the way her eyes glistened with madness or the scissors poking out of her scrub pocket?

"No, I understand perfectly," she shrieked, coming closer. "You couldn't have children. You hated that I could. And when I got pregnant, you made sure I lost it."

What stood between us was the desk, and I could see the rapid rise and fall of her chest. I wanted to choose my words carefully, but they spilled out before I could stop them. "You are insane!"

Her eyes hardened, and in an instant, she picked a framed picture of Malik and me, hurling it across my office. The glass shattered, scattering shards around us. There was this wildness in her eyes.

"I'll show you insane. You know what? You took what's mine and I took yours." She stepped even closer, her voice cold.

I stood still, my mind reeling with questions and dread. She didn't have to say what she had taken from me. The problem was that what she took wasn't mine.

Her head bobbed slowly, "Yes, I had been injecting Asiya with misoprostol."

No. No. I had no idea I was saying it out loud and Layla nodded as I continued. Then the realization struck me; that was why Jamila insisted to be brought here three months ago. I buried my face in my palms, forcing my emotions under control. I had to fix everything.

I stood up straight, staring her down, willing her to see how stupid she was. "I don't have time for this nonsense, Layla," I said, pushing myself out from behind my desk.

I pushed past her, suppressing the urge to drag her by ears and take her to Jamila. But I didn't have to, Layla always had to come.

"Nonsense? Do you think I don't know about the other one you're using for surrogacy?"

My response was a slow blink.

"You fool. You poor little fool," I said, shaking my head. Layla had dug her own grave, and now I had no choice but to tell her everything. I decided to start with what would hurt her the most. "You are Malik's third wife. Malik is dead because he married you. And soon, you'll share his fate because you killed her child.

"I watched her shrink his nerves and veins, Layla. I watched her render his body useless. Yours will be worse. She wanted two children, and you took one. She's nothing you've ever seen or heard about, and after protecting you for a long time, you stupidly fell into her trap." I continued, my mouth trembling so much I had to hold my jaw.

I expected Layla to be afraid, to run out of the hospital without turning back, but she laughed. She laughed until tears streamed down her cheeks.

But when she noticed the stoic expression on my face, her laughter faltered, and stopped almost abruptly. The mirth drained from her eyes, replaced by disgust.

"Is this some kind of manipulation?" Layla said, "Amina, I know better than that."

People like Layla were troublesome to others, and a torment to themselves. I watched her leave the office, a wide grin plastered on her face as she locked me in from the outside.

"Now I'm going to go inject... what's her name... yes, Jamila and there'll be no baby for you," she said with a mocking smile.

Through the window, I watched her dangle the key teasingly before slipping it into her pocket. One thought kept ringing in my head: Layla will die today.

I sighed, then called out, "Layla, don't."

But she merely laughed, her footsteps echoing in the quiet hallway as she went.